Technically not a #ThrowbackThursday post, because thsi is new material, but it's been about a year since I released anything official that's Dartmoor-related.
Here's the first look at my NaNo project, a brand new novel starring Candy, Michelle, the Texas crew, and Michelle's favorite uncles. I'm not posting the title yet, because I'm not ready for it it be up on Goodreads, but progress is going well. The quick rundown is: a series of strange and specific murders in Texas leaves the club cooperating with the FBI - and Michelle reading out to her Uncle Charlie for help. If Fox has to mentor a terrible new little brother, and Mercy's wayward duckling, he might as well take them along... Lots of romance between several couples, and plenty of club action. Expected to drop early next year.
Pairings:
Candy/Michelle
Fox/Eden
Albie/Axelle
(Also, Tenny is awful, and I love him)
**Raw text, unedited**
From A New Dartmoor Novel
(Title Forthcoming)
Evan
muttered something petulant and stupid under his breath, and went to snag the
water bottle he’d left sitting in the shade.
Reese
still stood at the ready, coiled like a spring, not even breathing hard.
“Water
break,” Fox told him, and the boy nodded, pushed his hair off his face, and
went to get his own bottle.
Behind
him, the back door opened with a squeal – Ghost would be busting someone’s ass,
probably Evan’s, about oiling the hinges – and light footfalls heralded the
arrival of Fox’s youngest brother. Tenny climbed up to sit beside Fox,
slouching down, forearms on his thighs, relaxed, unbothered.
Seemingly
so.
Everything
Reese had Tenny had, too – plus the social, cultural, and governmental training
to make him twice as dangerous. Reese was a bare blade, glinting, outwardly
frightening. Tenny was a vial of poison, and you had no idea your life was in
danger until the first drop hit your tongue.
Fox
made a point of turning toward him slowly, like he didn’t care that he was an
hour late to their scheduled session. Tenny wore fitted, dark jeans, harness
boots, white t-shirt and a high-collar leather biker jacket so new it squeaked
when he moved. His shades were aviators, his thick dark hair – the same glossy
brown as Fox’s – artfully tousled, jaw shadowed with a few days’ worth of
stubble.
“You
look like you’re trying to land a cologne add,” Fox drawled.
Tenny
shrugged and cracked his gum.
“Did
you steal that jacket?”
“I
bought it.”
“Did
you steal the money you bought it with?”
Another
shrug. Her nodded toward Reese. “He’s too obvious.”
Fox
knew exactly what he meant, but he wasn’t going to agree with the asshole. “We
can fix that.”
The
smirk that tweaked his mouth looked like the one Fox had been looking at in the
mirror his whole life. It was eerie as hell.
“And,”
Fox continued, “unlike some shitheads, he actually shows up when it’s time to
train.”
Tenny
turned toward him, just as slowly as Fox had, tucked his chin, and made eye
contact over the gold rims of his shades. The absolute douchebag. “Train?” he
asked, voice just as flat as Fox’s. But his eyes – the Devin Green blue they
all shared – sparked with a challenge.
Not
the first time, Fox was struck by the notion that handling Ten was like riding
a horse that was just waiting for the right moment to scrape him off on the
fence, and go leaping off the track.
And
now he used racetrack references, apparently, because he’d spent way too much
time with Walsh lately.
“Why
would I need to train?” Ten asked.
“To
keep sharp.”
Tenny
made a show of surveying their surroundings, the empty section of lock, the
unremarkable, rambling backside of the clubhouse; the scrap yard, and the glint
of the river at the far edge of the property, sliding slowly, darkly past. Then
he turned back to Fox, and some of the showmanship dropped away, leaving him
flinty-eyed, ruthless, and – most disturbingly – just as restless as Fox felt.
“Keep sharp for what?”
Keep
sharp because I fucking told you to,
Fox thought, and recoiled mentally like he’d been burned. God, he sounded like Phillip.
He
turned away.
Reese
was watching them, not at all coy, blatantly staring. Fox wondered how good his
hearing was.
“That’s
not for you to know,” he said imperiously. At least now he sounded like Abe
rather than his oldest brother. “Guys like us in this organization: we go where
we’re told, kill who we’re supposed to, and we don’t question the higher
authority.”
“Higher
authority,” Ten said flatly. “Ghost.” No mistaking that for anything but
an insult.
Fox
sent him a sideways glare. “You could do – and have done – a lot worse than
Ghost for a boss. Remember that.”
Tenny
stared back, silent, refusing to bend.
One
of these days, Fox
thought, I’ll have to put him in his place for good.
The
worst part was: he didn’t know if he could.
~*~
The
high-beams flared and spun, a revolving disco ball as the truck tumbled
roof-over-tires again, and again, and again. She steered her car around, and in
her own headlights, she could see that the truck had ended up thirty feet off
the road, upside down, motor choking and tires spinning down slowly; the roof
of the cab was crushed. Ugly black streaks on the pavement veered off crazily
toward the shoulder, and disappeared, a trail of laid-down rubber leading to the
place where the truck had flipped.
